


Aberrant

by carriedon_awolfsback



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Choking, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Horrible author self-indulgence, I won’t lie to you folks this one’s gonna get pretty nasty, Leather, POV Second Person, x reader fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriedon_awolfsback/pseuds/carriedon_awolfsback
Summary: You’d thought you’d be shooed away as an annoyance at best, punished for your unwanted attentions at worst. Instead you were made a competent, knowledgable, generous offer across the desk. In writing, even. It was time to accept enthusiastically.





	Aberrant

**Author's Note:**

> When I said I like to see a mean streak in our boy... I wasn’t playing.
> 
> Big thanks to Strega for previewing a few choice snippets for me!
> 
> (By the way, I recently enabled anon commenting on all my works for anyone that’s more shy than me about hollering their kinks around the internets. Enjoy!)

You made sure you came to the dark mahogany door on the stroke of midnight and knocked three times. There could be no misunderstanding what you came for.

“Enter,” came a voice from within.

You shouldered the door, expecting it to be stiff and immovable with its scarred wood and iron handle, but it swung with startling silent ease and you took a heavy step inside.

The room looked very much like you would have anticipated even if you hadn’t been here before in the light of day; all dark wood and red walls and carpeting. The large ornamental window behind the work desk was now shuttered, hiding its stained glass; the warm light that reached just short of the corners of the room was provided by the chandelier overhead that had long since been augmented into an electric version, and accented by one or two decorative stands around the walls bearing black and white pillar candles. Copia was seated in one of the red, plush wingback chairs that faced the office fireplace and the two neighbouring alcoves of stacked books old and new, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, clad in the black leather and velvet ensemble he was fond of for public appearances outside of the Ministry complex. If your stumble amused him he didn’t let it show, instead snapping shut the wallet of papers he’d been perusing and placing it on the low table, keeping his mismatched eyes on you all the while.

“Good evening, Sister,” he said quietly. “You’ve come about what we discussed earlier, I presume?”

“You presume right, sir.” You gave him a weak smile, hands fumbling with the hem of your shirt on your hips, adjusting needlessly, trying to keep them busy.

He nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment, looking deep into your eyes. “I am glad you decided to accept my invitation after all.” It was a placid expression- even kind.

Then he stood and in two strides he was upon you, compassionate eyes now eerie and cold, his hand flying to your throat. He walked you backwards without hesitation until your back hit the door you’d just entered through, driving a gasp from you, and he shoved his body hard against yours, trapping you, not letting you take your breath back. His hand squeezed, and his hips ground once forcefully against yours, and you couldn’t smother the whine of desire that escaped.

“I don’t play tasteless games,” he said curtly, his hot breath and soft lips inches from your face, “Or pantomime villains to coax out the grimy little things in your psyche. You will know yourself and keep telling me how much you like this, until such a time as you don’t, and then I will stop. Understood?”

“Yes, Cardinal,” you panted, the breath still knocked out of you. Your hands flexed on the wood panelling behind you, fighting for self-control.

He squeezed your throat again, the leather gloves squeaking and smelling rich and smoky. “Does it excite you, meeting me for this?” He cocked his head like a curious animal, watching your blushing face impassively. “Like a dirty little secret?”

“Yes, Cardinal-”

He gave another, crueller squeeze. “Has your brain slid so far south already that you can’t say anything else?”

“I- no, sorry, Cardinal,” you stammered, trying to formulate something that wasn’t just a braindead yes or no. “I was just, I’ll do whatever you tell- oh fuck-” his free hand was pushing between your legs, cupping you through your pants. “Oh,  _ mm _ -”

He squeezed firmly for a moment, making your thighs tense against his arm, then held his hand still, denying you any friction, giving you an impassive too-close stare that you couldn’t break as you fought to catch your breath. “Your little face is so pink,“ he taunted. “Is there something shameful about doing this with me, hmm? You’re far from the only needy girl in the Sisterhood who creeps out at night and makes herself a plaything for the senior clergy, we all know that; no doubt the place would fall about our ears without such generosity... but is there a little extra thrill in how much more people would stare and whisper if they saw you let me take you? No?”

This already wasn’t a fair game. It was inappropriate and often downright ridiculous, the things some people gossipped and claimed about him- that he let ghouls in blood-moon heat pleasure and feed from him without ill-effect, conversed with diseased pests and let them nest in his rooms, or was even something old and cursed in human glamour, a veritable death omen- and it would be insulting to validate them.

But at the same time…yes. No matter how cruel or downright wrong they were about Copia, there was added eroticism in knowing that the ache inside you was all for someone they called  _ dangerous _ , pervert, usurper,  _ corruptor _ .

“Coward,” he sneered, not leaving you enough time to drag your contrary thoughts into a response. “I don’t advise trying to lie or sugar-coat things tonight. You must be a pretty nasty little thing yourself to have agreed to this; why hide it now, huh?”

His hand was still frustratingly still, but you knew instinctively if you tried to grind down to encourage him he’d only take it away again. Instead, his hand around your neck relaxed and slid down a little, and he leaned forward over you, tilting his head to nuzzle into your throat. You groaned again, tilting your head to expose more to his grazing lips and teeth. He pinched skin here and there, following with tender kisses that pulled the nipped flesh between his lips, or with slow, hot swipes of his tongue.

“Did you hear rumours I was sick, and dirty, and disgusting?” He spoke between suckling kisses, over your soft, slightly suffering noises of enjoyment. “And did that make you all hot and bothered? Did you keep finding yourself wanting to scurry away to your little bed, thinking about being dirty with me?”

You nodded mutely, slowly, barely able to move under his ministrations.

“So what did you do about it?” His voice was barely more than a murmur close to your ear. “Before you pulled your little scraps of courage together enough to come to me and confess.”

Your mouth ran dry, then wet with hunger. “I touched myself,” you admitted in a mousey voice. “I got off thinking about you. Lots of times.”

“Tell me how.”

“I… have this pair of gloves, which I wear and… pretend they’re your hands.” You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth as his teeth gave your earlobe the gentlest of tugs. “Th-  _ ah _ \- they’re not such good quality but they’ll do.”

“Hmm. And what do my hands do for you?”

He punctuated that with a scratch of his gloved fingertips at your collarbone and a bruising kiss over your pulse that made you gasp and your already-heavy eyes flutter shut. “Play with my clit,” you panted quietly, a plea as much as it was an answer. “The leather… feels good.”

“Like this, yes?” He pulled his cupping hand smoothly back, pressing in firmer with his fingertips at the apex of your thighs and making a few languid circles through your clothes.

“Yes,  _ mmh _ , like that-” the push and pull of fabric was rough on the sensitive flesh beneath, and over too soon as his hand slid away and rested on your thigh instead, not about to let you get too far gone so early.

“Is that how little it takes to make you come apart?” His lips quirked against your skin as he heard and felt you moan in protest.

“No… only sometimes,” you admitted, wincing as his fingers tightened on your leg at the first word, like he could tell you were bending the truth. “When I’m getting close I usually… I use a toy.”

“A big toy?”

“Yeah.” You felt his teeth bared in a humourless grin against your skin. Smug. “Thick. So it feels real.”

“Good,” he purred. “And how do you like to be fucked with this…” he adjusted his stance a little so that his thighs pressed fully over yours- “big, thick cock you want me to give you?”

“Slow but hard,” you breathed. “Deep. And then faster, with my- your thumb back on my clit, til we both come- with you inside.”

“Filling you up?” The momentary shortness of breath that entered his tone at that gave you the impression that this particular detail was a little indulgence for himself, not just for your titillation. “Until it drips down your thighs between us?”

Your hips rolled involuntarily against him as you shuddered and nodded, the fantasy as vivid as ever, but now moments from potentially coming true.

He drew his head up from your neck sharply and crushed your mouth to his, his hand sliding back up to pin your neck back, his tongue pushing into your mouth. Yours pressed back, urgent and inelegant. Your hands left the door where they had been flattened all this time to claw at his arms; doubtlessly he would tolerate no aggression on your part, but you had to touch something of him. The leather was soft and gently textured under your grasping fingers, and smelt warm and heady, well-polished.

“Do you feel guilty afterwards? Hiding under the covers with your cheap, sticky gloves and your sore little pussy, a dirty little wet patch ruining the sheets under you?” He broke the kiss without ceremony, leaving your lips uncomfortably wet and abandoned, and bared his teeth. “Embarrassed that all the dorms around yours probably heard you screaming for it harder from the  _ plague-bringer _ ?”

You squirmed at the use of the overdramatic epithet. Much like the rumour mill, you refused to pay too much attention to the mock-titles many of the Siblings bestowed on him, the line between playful and pejorative far too blurry for your loyalties- but he seemed to wear it like armour. “I always try to stop myself making a noise but I can’t.” You were convinced at this point you couldn’t get any redder; regardless of whether the dorm walls really were that thin or not, you wondered if he was just unnaturally gifted at figuring out your pressure points, or if you had truly been being this transparent for months. “I just… it’s too good.”

“Hmph. Normally I’d dispense a lecture for you about letting go of shame in the name of spiritual wellbeing.” He thumbed your jawline almost tenderly as you looked down, face burning. “But shame, for you… this has a secondary use for you, yes?” He clicked his tongue when you stayed silent. “You need a little bit of shame to feel hot, and get excited. Don’t you?”

You nodded mutely. He drew even closer, which didn’t seem possible, and his hands at your throat and thigh got tighter, fingertips digging in.

“Then take my advice-  _ you ought to be ashamed of yourself _ .”

Then both hands were gone, and you realised how much you’d been relying on his hold to keep your shaking legs supporting you as you slumped against the door.

“Follow,” he spoke impassively, as though he hadn’t just been licking and fondling you and urging you to fantasise aloud about him spilling inside you. Patting his leg idly like a man calling an old dog to heel as he made for a door at the back of the study.

What else was there to do but follow?


End file.
